And All You'll Hear Is
by wordofthemonth
Summary: Back before he first donned the cape, before Ra's al Ghul, before the alley where his parents fell, before he even gave Rachel a second glance…there was Arthur. Canon Pairings-ish.
1. No Grand Salute for You

**And All You'll Hear Is…**

**Chapter 1: **No Grand Salute for You

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of DC Comics, Nolan's Batman series and…Nolan's Inception XD

**Pairings: **This will be both SLASH and HET. Arthur/Eames, past!Cobb/Mal, past!Bruce/Rachel. Be advised, the romance will be very light for this story.

**Summary: **Back before he first donned the cape, before Ra's al Ghul, before the _alley, _before he even gave Rachel a second glance…there was Arthur the Orphan.

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"After that my guess is that you will never hear from him again. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And just like that... he was gone".

- Usual Suspects (1995)

* * *

News came fast, as they usually do in Gotham when miracles happen. Spit-balling citizens (ranging from a man with rotting teeth with no clothes to a woman with plump red lips wrapped in a fox stole) had lined up since morning by the snow melting streets. Long, dark, heavy built cars slowly drove by, clean as a whistle leading the rest of the pack. When the line of hearses trickled into the crowd's field of range, all sorts of people had let loose.

It wasn't about making a scene or making something sacred into something ugly and cheap. If it were, there would have been no point. The blacked out windows were already stained from 5 blocks away and the accompanying party knew it was a lost cause trying to wipe it clean. Besides, they already added a few of their own mementos when they began to follow the stream down the road. It was about them laying down the palm leaves for the arrival of Christ. It was about them cleaning and shining the road for something really amazing. It was also about them spitting on someone else's parade.

After the hail, the security followed from behind. It consisted of only two patrol cars and four delinquent cops forced on the job. The only perk was that to their dying day, they can tell fellow shady poker players and grandkids alike that they were there to help bury the sons of bitches named the Kint Family.

As the parade eventually made it past the municipal cemetery gates, the squad cars placed themselves in front of the frozen driveway creating a loose barricade. The rowdy mass of the angry and praying public joined with the loud, incessant reporters who were already camped there waiting to rumble for choice of first words. The thunderous commotion that came from just beyond the cheap, iron rusted fence was a far cry from the atmosphere surrounding the five freshly dug graves.

There was a detached sense of being rushed amongst the workers who hurried to fill them. There was no priest, no crying widow, and no solemn wreaths of lilies placed on the nondescript headstones. There was only a single stem of a pale, off-white carnation –

"_Oh honey, look at your hands! Let's get the mud washed off quickly, what were you thinking?"_

_"You said you wanted flowers for the kitchen, so I went and got you flowers mom!"_

"_Leave the boy alone, that's hilarious. Look at that, our boy's a man of action! I gotta tell the guys." _

- held between the loose fingers of a smartly dressed boy. Dressed to the nines in black, he painted the picture of someone very lost without anyone he'd like to ask for help. It didn't help his cause that he looked ridiculously out of place among the busy bodies, some even passing along a communal coffee mug amongst themselves.

As the city paid help patted down the last grave, they turned as one (as a mob) towards him. Eyes placed all on him, right there in the –

"_Courtroom. The judge, the lawyers and the camera crew all wanting a picture of him. Go away, go away, go – "_

field of frost bitten weeds that crunched under their boots. They boy ducked his head even lower, letting his charcoal bangs fall in front of his eyes and tensed his jaw.

"Finally." Someone whispered, lost in the gaggle. Finally they were done the deed. Finally they can sleep well, knowing that they don't need to come to work for a hopefully long time. Finally they can say 'Good Riddance.' Save for one last boy, but they weren't worried and they had good reason not to be. They left him there alone to be found.

Again they turned as one to leave. They headed in the direction of the waiting crowd. The noise died down as the diggers and sleek cars pushed forward, closer. As the last digger affixed his own place within the group, the last car disappeared around the bend. The horde of people literally smelt the stink of tension ebb away until the air was as fresh as calm. A man with a shovel smiled down at a little girl beside him, who grabbed her mother's hand, who also then sighed prettily towards her husband. Just like that, a surreal sense of Kumbaya ran through the guts of every single person there. Amidst all of this, the sense of calm was replaced by a low hum of static.

A cheer erupted. So loud it reached the mayor's office. He rose from his leather back chair and gave a small hurrah of his own. He then proceeded to shake the hands of his District Attorney and Commissioner. The celebratory noise glided into the slimiest corners and rat holes of the Narrows. Girls with no shoes and boys with no shirts ran out onto the streets without fear for the first time in a long time, before they were even born. Only the most seasoned of 'Narrownians' knew that the joy is to be short lived.

As the merry mood reached all the way to the outskirts of town, some even claimed it could be heard in Metropolis, the little boy and his little carnation remained quiet. His jaw and fist were so tight that the aura around him creaked and moaned. He decided to move at a certain point till he was right in front and between two tall, arched stones named Mariah and Arthur. And there, he stayed.

* * *

A few hours later, a haphazard looking woman arrived and spotted him standing at the exact spot. She took a rolled up bundle of newspaper and tucked it tightly under her arm. She sucked in a deep breadth. She then pulled out an official looking sheet of paper and hurried over to her problem several paces in front of her. If someone saw him standing there alone, she'd be out of a job. Then again, she's the only one she knows that actually had to do work when all of Gotham was a flutter with happy news.

Her eyes never strayed away from the back of his head as she said, "I'm sent from city hall. I'm here to place you in temporary care until we can appoint you new guardians or relocate you to a more permanent setting. You are now officially a ward of the state."

She handed him the limp sheet of paper, damp from the falling snow. She gave it a sharp shake and the boy still hadn't looked up. The corners of his eyes tightened ever so slightly though.

She continued, "We would like to offer you our sincerest sympathies. Now if you may please follow me."

She gathered herself and marched away from the site. She was halfway down the path before she realised that she could not hear a second set of footsteps behind her. She turned around to prepare a few choice words, but froze instead.

The boy was looking at her, just _looking _at her with stone set eyes. Dark and brooding, like a horror film. She swallowed quickly, privately, trying to get something, anything out of her throat. He twisted his face away from hers and then dropped his flower in such a way that it looked like it floated there, right between the two larger-than-the-other grave stones. It looked almost romantic. He risked one last look before putting his still tight fists into his pockets and walked away.

When the social worker pulled on her seatbelt with shaking hands, the boy noticed the discarded front page news article in the backseat beside him. He remembered seeing _The Gotham Times _everywhere. From the chauffeur that picked him up, from the crowd who passed each other a copy or two, from the gravediggers who used it as a coaster for their stupid coffee mug and now here. Right there, placed almost strategically in the back seat of an old mustard yellow Ford.

It's when he was half an hour away from the orphanage that he chanced a look at the front page. "The End of a Tyranny! The Kint Family Murdered in Sleep!" His jaw bit down hard and a keen throb pressed into his eyeballs. His father's dentist warned him about that, but where was he to give him advice? Where was the live in nanny who warmed his milk at night, the family lawyer that taught him big words only to laugh at hearing the fumbles? _Two-timing finks, traitors, I'll never ever ever – _He breathed out slowly through his nose, just like his Dad used to while watching the news, before he looked at the subheadings littering the rush printed articles.

"Falcone Named Next Head. Was This Planned?"

"Mayor to Give Speech on Peace and Plans for City Wide Cleansing"

"See Detailed Description of Kint Family and Mini Biographies. From Pauper to Prince: How Mariah and Arthur Kint Sr Went From Slum Tailors to Mob Royalty"

"Only Child and Survivor of Kint Massacre! What Will Happen to Arthur Kint Jr?"

His tiny pale fingers started to crush the already well worn edges of the daily news and when he read, "Arthur Jr: Far From? Top Child Psychologists From Arkham Offer Their Thoughts." He folded it roughly and shoved it away.

When he looked up to peer through the salt covered windows, he realised that they've reached the St. Mary – _Mariah_ – Orphanage. More dreadful than that, he noticed that he was softly crying the whole ride there.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So this is my first venture into actually writing something for fun. Not gonna lie, I feel bad that this chapter feels so short compared to the other amazing stories out there. I will try to make the next chapter a bit more lively compared to this slow, drawn out preview. Also, as you can probably tell, this was a first glance at just recently orphaned tyke!Arthur from Inception. The story will mostly take place in Gotham since there is so much more information about this universe than Inception, but no fear! Everyone will have their shining moment. Also, can anyone guess what was my mob movie reference? First person who does so gets their very own drabble will their own prompt filled in chp 2!

On another note, I NEED BETA READER :D Someone who is well-versed in both...verses lol and is comfortable with crossovers. I don't really know how this works (damn my n00b skillz) so I will be shopping around/asking for Beta requests.

**Next time**: _Overcoming Inertia:_ Arthur is moved from orphanage to foster home to orphanage until he ends up at the hospital. Of all the people that finally decide to give him a chance, of course it had to be the Wayne's. Wait, is that a mini Bruce?


	2. Many Things I'd Like To Say

**A/N:** This took such a long time coming. I have been trying to find the right feel/direction I should take with this story. I realized that with my schedule, writing a full out story that intertwines both the Inception and the Dark Knight story lines might be a bit daunting. SO, it shall be a story told in drabbles or actual chapters ahaha: D.

Alsoooo, I would love to have a Beta to help me in this adventure!

**Chapter 2 – **Many Things I'd Like To Say

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Children are remarkable for their intelligence and ardor, for their curiosity, their intolerance of shams, the clarity and ruthlessness of their vision.  
- **Aldous Huxley**

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**

The blinds were drawn and through the dirty windows, the teens that loitered by the school's yard looked almost like specters. All wavy lines and blurred faces.

They were gesturing violently, their lips quickly moving in frowns muttering about how unfair it was that the cops were always after them, how they were the first to be blamed and the last to be praised, and all of life.

Watching from afar was the music teacher who leaned away from the window and picked up her heavy, hot plain white mug. She took an uneasy sip. She pursed her lips and kept the mug in front of her face, eyes still focused on the window while looking over the rim. She was startled out of her thoughts when another identical china mug slammed on the table in front of her.

"Stupid kids! School's over, I hate it when they stay behind. It's time for me to go home, not babysit." The coach grumbled, as he pulled a plastic chair out for himself. He chair violently scraped across the floor as he threw himself on the seat.

A sweeter voice piped out, "I think you're just moody. He's never like this when it his kids that stay." The English teacher grinned, and as she sat down she sent a small wink to the haggard looking music staff member as if part of a conspiracy.

Coach Holtz harrumphed, "Well, my kids are at least keeping themselves busy on important things. You can always trust them to keep to themselves or be down by the gym. These kids," he stopped and scratched his leg, "are always getting themselves in the middle of something. It's always those twice damned Narrow boys. It was a mistake, a shitty mistake changing our feeder schools."

The teachers were quietly busying themselves with other notions when they both sharply looked towards him and then just as sharply, looked away.

The Music teacher placed her mug gently back on the table and slowly spun her mug by the handle as she said, "That's not a very understanding thing to say."

Holtz scoffed at her and took a large, messy gulp from his cold coffee. Hi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave it a quick shake by his side. Claire tactfully placed a napkin by his hand. He took no notice.

"Claire's right. You can't, _shouldn't_, be saying things like that now. Some of those Narrow boys are in my class." The English teacher said, defensively. Spots of red were slowly darkening her cheeks.

"How many of those kids are in remedial? How many aren't? Can you name me a kid from that group that didn't go to the detention hall? Ever? Don't be such a holier-than-thou bitch, Helen. Every teacher, principle, janitor has that kid they gave up on 'cause there's no point. Or they just don't wanna listen to." Holtz gave her a scalding look and continued. "You gave that Kint kid detention. Funny that there wasn't even a slip given to admin for why."

Helen's face seemed to shrivel and thin with every passing word and her face was paling in notches. "I had my reasons. I had good reasons, too. It was only detention and for one time. I've been with him this entire semester keeping his grades up."

"Bull, you don't need to bother with his grades." He turned his head away from her.

Claire continued with more ardor, the sickly white of her face turned to burning ire. "Believe it or not, but I _am_ helping him. I'm probably the best he has right now. Better than you. _I _didn't send him limping to the nurses last week!" By the end of her sentence, her hands were tightly gripping the edges of the table. As if she was trying to keep herself away from him, or to keep her hands from wrapping around his beefy neck.

He scratched his stomach and sharply exhaled from his nose like a dog about to sneeze. He said, "I've been doing stuff with this Kint kid at least. Making him run, fetch. I'm still doing my job and no one's given me an angry letter for it. I'm still doing my job. I've heard different things about you Claire."

Claire quickly straightened herself upright from where she was trying to bury herself into the back of her seat. She cleared her throat, "Umm."

Holtz spoke over her, "I admit some of staff members are giving the kid shit. Others are saying that he's misunderstood and other psycho BS. There's nothing about how you're dealing with Kint, though. He giving you trouble?"

Helen leaned back into a more comfortable position, body still turned away from the coach beside her. "Holtz is right for once. Kint's not putting you in an awkward situation is he? How is he doing in music?"

Claire gave herself a moment and breathed into her mug. She placed it down and stared into the contents, into her own reflection. "He's very capable with the piano. Especially with classical pieces. Actually he seems to enjoy the more vintage ones. He already knows most of what the art curriculum is providing. It doesn't surprise me though. It's just hard to work with a student like that."

Helen slowly nodded in agreement. She looked to the side and wondered aloud, "I think I remember his mother in the news. She was well known in the art community wasn't she? There was always some picture of her at a gallery or a concerto."

Claire hmm'd in agreement. "Students like her are hard to forget."

Helen stared hard at Claire, and at the corner of her eyes noticed the Coach doing the same. Less surreptitiously, of course. Helen took note of Claire's crow's feet, her grey hair in a loose bun, her wrinkled hands that were always wrapped around a hot cup of anything. She stared a moment longer and then another until Holtz growled under his breath.

He was staring intently through the windows with a heavy scowl on his face. "Stupid kids and their stupid friends and their stupid way of messing up my schedule." He downed his coffee and stalked away. His stomping could still be heard at the end of the hall.

Helen was now staring at the dripping mess his mug left behind and grimaced. She looked up again and gave Claire a warm smile. She stood up, patted Claire gently on her shoulder and said, "I'll see you sometime tomorrow then." With that, she left.

Claire waved softly without looking and kept her eyes on the glass plane. She was thinking of brown-almost-black, curls, a small girl with ugly, _ugly_, clothes and a beautiful smile, and as equally beautiful flow of music. She stopped thinking of smiles and sweet notes and thought instead of gory front page news photos with bloodied hands and faces. When she focused on the teen boys beyond the windows, she couldn't help but notice how much more blurred they looked.

Claire thought, _how romantic_, the waves turning into a veil and she sighed. She blinked rapidly until her vision cleared again. She continued to watch as the angry group rushed quickly and quietly towards a smaller boy with dark, dreary hair who was facing away from them. She held her breath as she continued to watch them form a tight circle around him. _Kint_.

As one boy, the leader, raised a tight fist, Claire shut the blinds.


End file.
